Tipping Point
by Flowing Tears
Summary: We follow the downfall of Darkwing Duck and the rise of Darkwarrior. Gosalyn is gone and Darkwing blames himself for it. Launchpad tries to get the hero back on his feet without any success. And even Negaduck knows that somewhere, something went wrong, forcing the villain to make the mistake that will cost him his minions, his empire and eventually his life.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Tipping Point

Summary: With Gosalyn gone, Darkwing has no one to blame but himself for pushing her away. Launchpad tries to get the hero back on his feet without any success. And even Negaduck knows that somewhere, something went wrong, forcing the villain to make the mistake that will cost him his minions, his empire and eventually his life.

Genre: Angst/Tragedy

Disclaimer: Don't own :3

Rating and Warning: T for violence. Some blood.

A/N: It's been a while :3

" _Come on troops! Let's cage those creeps."_ Her voice rings through his head, clear as crystal. The memory of her pushing up her sleeves, ready to fight evildoers, makes his stomach lurch with dread.

" _Reality check. We are the crime fighters. You are the obedient daughter who stays put and out of trouble."_ He hates himself for saying this. So patronizing, so degrading.

No wonder she left.

" _Uhm, just what reality are we checking?"_ Launchpad had opted, trying to keep the peace between them. Bless his heart for always trying to keep everyone on track, time and again, whenever an argument between father and daughter was on the rise.

She would have left a long time ago if it weren't for Launchpad, probably.

" _Ahw dad, do we really have to go through this_ again _?"_ There it was. Her endless spirit always spurred her on to go against all his wishes. His little redheaded hellion would dive face first in to danger just to get a piece of the action. They had argued over this a dozen times before, and would argue over this same topic a thousand times more.

Or… well…

" _I mean it Gos. If something were to happen to you, I don't know what I would do."_ Search St. Canard from the depths of the darkest crawlspace to the tip of the antenna on the highest tower in the city. Over, and over, and over…

…and over.

" _Ok. I promise I won't get involved."_ She had promised him.

She had _promised_ him not to get involved. That she would stay in the Ratcatcher, sit there like a good little girl and wait for him and Launchpad to get back.

 _That_ night has played out in his mind a million times over by now. All the things he had said. Everything he had done. Every step he took, every breath he took, that one moment he had taken to make sure his hat was on straight. One cannot fight evildoers with a hat that is askew.

The whole night haunts him like a ghost in one of his daughter's ridiculous B-movie horror films.

" _Reality check. We are the crime fighters. You are the obedient daughter who stays put and out of trouble."_ Something in his chest lurches like a punch to the stomach. For the first time in an hour he moves, the pain in his chest causing a physical reaction. What kind of moron would say that to a little ten year old girl? What kind of a father would say that to his daughter? He loves her. He is supposed to love her.

Why did he say it like that to her?

" _Reality check. We are the crime fighters. You are the obedient daughter who stays put and out of trouble."_ Breath is caught in his throat, the pain that punches him in the gut is pulling the air from his lungs. That is why she ran away. Of course that is the reason she ran away. And he thought it was weird she was always getting in to trouble, undermining his authority as her father.

The dozen or so fights at school. The bad grades. Sneaking out in the middle of the night so she could play hero in the tower. Staying up late to watch horror movies he is almost certain a girl her age should not be watching.

He is a lousy father.

No wonder she left.

Tears begin streaming down his face and beak, feeling hot against his cold skin. 'Gos…' Wrenches out of his chest and a thick lump of agony rises like bile up his throat. "I'm so sorry…" He whispers softly, voice hitching in his apology as he finally has the breakdown that has been brooding for months now.

" _DW! Are you ok?"_ Launchpad throws in over the radio, voice tight with tension.

He doesn't hear it. Gosalyn's face flashes before his eyes. Her big bright eyes, her infectious smile, her naughty giggle, her never ending spirit. His body shakes with a broken laugh and a choked sob. Grief washes over his frame and drains the strength from his body. Even though the unforgiving ground scrapes his skin raw as he falls to his knees, he doesn't notice the flame of the injury on his skin.

" _Breathe DW. It's ok, but you have to breathe."_ Launchpad sounds dangerously calm, but if you know the guy well, like Darkwing knows Launchpad, you can hear the tremor in his voice.

"Reality check. We are the crime fighters. You are the obedient daughter who stays put and out of trouble. _"_ He whispers softly, unblinking, still shedding tears.

" _DW…"_ There is a long pause over the radio. It gives the hero a moment to catch his breath, but somehow he is unable to get control over it. _"You have to pull yourself together…"_ Which is easier said then done. It feels as if he is breathing through a straw. The silence over the radio is short lived when Launchpad makes a decision. _"Hang on. I'm on my way!"_ For as good as being on his way can get.

During their last mission Launchpad had gotten himself injured. Ironically while trying to save Darkwing from getting hurt. The pilot is now stuck in a wheelchair with one leg bandaged up from getting shot. An injury that will not be permanent but needs time to heal.

Thankfully, Darkwing didn't feel guilty enough already…

It is the reason why he is here, on this deserted rooftop, staring in to the dark skyline of St. Canard. The high building is the perfect vantage point to overlook a great portion of the city, all the way down to the harbor and the sea beyond it. To the hero's left, with one smaller building in between is the reason why he is stationed here.

The St. Canard House of Ancient Art is holding a special exhibition of jewelry worn by kings and queens from the past. The highlight of the show is a crown, jewelry and clothing worn by Queen von Ducken during her crowning ceremony in the early 1400s.

The crown alone is worth millions.

Security has been upped a hundred fold already. The police forces that are patrolling the building and the surrounding few blocks have been tripled, there is a chopper circling the outer premises and according to J. Gander the military has been put on stand by, just in case.

Just in case, the exhibition itself is enough to draw many big time villains, like bees to honey. It's not that the authorities are expecting some small time crooks to try and steal the jewelry, it's the worst of the worst they are expecting.

Being dubbed Public Enemy Nr. 2 did not fall well with Negaduck, who has been getting more and more volatile over the last few weeks.

They are hoping that the added security is enough to deter him from striking the museum, but with the added power of the Fearsome Four there hasn't been much that could stop the villain. Even if half of team Fearsome seems to have vanished from the face of the Earth, Negaduck still has Bushroot and Liquidator at his disposal.

So S. H. U. S. H. had called in the help of the vigilante as an extra trump card to lead in to battle should Negaduck decide to attack. Everyone has been on edge because tonight is the final night of the exhibit, with a big gala to celebrate and so far no has has made a wrong move.

So the dark cloud looming over the museum, accompanied by Launchpad unable to walk for at least another two months, have led to the events of one Darkwing Duck waiting out the night and any upcoming events.

One emotionally and physically exhausted Darkwing Duck.

Who is supposed to be ready to jump into action when the alarm bells begin to ring.

Alarm bells that have started to go off a little while ago, but Darkwing is so absorbed in himself he doesn't register the sirens that have picked up their alarm. High in the air the chopper makes an abrupt turn. It has has done a one eighty in midair and just passes the building the hero is occupying. The distance between Darkwing and the chopper grows three blocks, then four, and it would have gotten more if it hadn't been for the missile being shot at it. The explosion that follows is violent and the destruction immense as it plummets straight into another building.

Had Darkwing been paying attention he would have noticed the signature of his evil double written all over the missile.

Had he been in _any_ better state of mind he would have seen the chaos that would soon develop. The explosion caused by the chopper has set the building on fire. Authorities are trying to save those who survived the initial blast and are now trapped in the inferno. Trees are marching the streets of downtown St. Canard. A huge tidal wave has hit the harbor. Police are scattered, firemen are sent to multiple locations and hospitals are getting ready for the first of the ambulances to bring them victims.

An explosion follows in the museum, triggered by, probably, a rocket launcher.

All of this chaos and there is no Darkwing Duck to bring order.

Hours pass, and the city fights on her own without its hero.

After what seems like minutes in the void of his mind, the sirens have begun to die down, the chaos in the city is ebbing away slowly and the sun is gently rising on the horizon. Long shadows are cast and the first rays of the sun turn the black sky into dark purple, slowly turning pink and red and orange as it climbs higher. Darkwing, still on his knees, body rigid from the stress and the cold, barely notices any change.

He doesn't hear the sirens slowly die out. Doesn't notice the trees and flood retreating from the streets. Doesn't smell the stench of fire and smoke slowly becoming less and less.

Doesn't notice the scraping sound creeping in closer as someone is slowly scaling the side of the building.

Had the hero been in any better state of mind he would have moved hours ago, heeding the small, nagging voice in the back of his head that is telling him that Launchpad is searching for him. That the poor pilot has probably managed to make his way through the tower, has crawled into the cockpit of the Thunderquack and is now circling the sky.

That little voice however, is drowned out by other, louder voices that are screaming and cursing at him. _"Reality check. We are the crime fighters. You are the obedient daughter who stays put and out of trouble."_ Repeats itself like a broken record because he believes that is the reason why Gosalyn has left him. A nagging little voice is constantly berating him for being such a lousy father, that she is better off without him, that she has found a normal family with a mother and a father and brothers or sisters and other _normally_ functioning members. Not the half baked attempt that he and Launchpad have been providing.

He and Launchpad together barely make up for one reasonable adult.

One voice chastises him for being a horrible friend to Launchpad, who is probably worried sick. Who has been worried sick for three months now, ever since Gosalyn disappeared. The friend that has his back, constantly, and who is probably suffering from her loss as much as Darkwing is. And yet, the pilot is too good a friend to show it. Too great a man to let the hero know that he too shed tears in her absence. That he too misses the tiny socks in the wash, the toys scattered around the house, the games of war in their backyard. Darkwing is not only a lousy father, he is also a lousy friend.

The voice tells him that Launchpad will come to his senses soon and leave him too, just like she did.

Another voice tells him that the great Darkwing is nothing without her. That the city will be better off without him anyway. Just look at what happened tonight.

That he should just kill himself.

One voice, that screams from the top of its lungs but still fails to get his attention is screaming, crying, _begging_ him to please get up because someone is coming!

And still he doesn't acknowledge the looming shadow slowly creeping in his line of vision. He is too enthralled with all of the voices and emotions to notice his company lowers themselves to their knees in front of him. A hand is softly placed on his shoulder but retreats just as quickly, almost fearful to hurt him. The other seems to hesitate for a moment longer before the hand is placed back on his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. Darkwing still can't force himself to move even when his hat is lifted from his head and placed on the ground next to them with more care then the other might have intended.

He does finally move when the other places a gentle hand underneath his chin and pushes his head up, being awfully gentle about it.

Webbed feet.

A dash of yellow littered with red blotches…

A face split in half by a wicked grin.

The only answer the hero has for the newcomer is a dry, broken sob bubbling from the back of his throat. A stray tear runs down his face, landing on the ground with a soft plop so loud it could have been a bomb being set off right beneath them.

"You know I missed you down there…" Negaduck tries, emphasis on _tries_ , to keep the humor from his voice. He leans in just a little closer and brings up the hand that was stationed on Darkwing's shoulder. With that hand he gently wipes away the trail left by the tear.

The grin on his face gets even wider. "You ok buddy?" There is laughter in his voice.

He knows something is wrong.

"Licky said something was up, but this…" He softly begins with that awful smile still on his beak. The horrendous nickname he oh so sweetly calls one of his minions is nothing short of foreboding. Darkwing know he should do something. All of the voices have stopped calling him terrible things and blaming him for everything and are now screaming at his to _get up and defend yourself!_

Even if Darkwing had been properly functioning and ready for a full on fight he still wouldn't be able to react in time. His body is lifted from the ground and slammed in to the wall behind him. The blow knocks the breath out of his lungs. Then a sharp intake follows when pain explodes in his chest, piercing through flesh and expertly cutting in between his ribs. The blade is perfectly lodged right next to a lung, only brushing past vital organs because Negaduck wants it to.

It leaves the hero gasping for breath, one arm raised to his enemy's chest, the other hand weakly wrapped around the hand pushing the blade in to his own chest. Not there to stop. Not there to push away.

Just there.

Darkwing jerks forward as his nemesis pulls the blade out of his chest. It doesn't abbreviate the pain one bit. The agony only intensifies when Negaduck plunges the blade back in to his body, lower then before and in his side, once more missing vital organs.

If the villain had wanted it he could have killed the hero off right then and there.

But Negaduck wouldn't be Negaduck if he didn't enjoy himself and milk this moment until the last drop.

Darkwing has been a thorn in the eye of many villains, including himself. It would only be fair that he gets to off the hero in one final, epic showdown that will shake St. Canard to its very core, letting its pathetic citizens know Negaduck has won. That Negaduck is king!

Even if this final showdown isn't really epic…

It can't really be called a fight. Not even if you squint your eyes and use your imagination to visualize the battle…

Negaduck is just… stabbing Darkwing a bit.

The villain relaxes his stance somewhat, if only to goad his nemesis to do something. Well, something other then lean against his free shoulder, breath ragged from the injuries, voice hoarse and skin beneath his feathers raw from the wild grief he has been experiencing throughout the night. This reaction, or lack thereof, sparks the first tendrils of rage in his own blood. Negaduck pulls the blade out of his adversary's side with a wet sound, feeling the warm liquid coat his fingers.

Darkwing raises a free hand to his new wound, more out of instinct then as a conscious reaction to stop the bleeding or hold the pain. The yellow clad duck takes a step back to give the other space. The hero would probably move to sit on the ground if he himself had the chance, but Negaduck isn't about to let him off that easy. "What? This not doing it for ya?" With a swift kick to the side he had just stabbed the villain downs the other, slamming him in to the ground and straddling his mirror image with his weight.

Out of instinct Negaduck grabs a free hand and pins it to the ground while raising the other to throw a punch at his nemesis. There is a gratifying crack when his fist connects with the other's face. Ready to pounce some more the villain waits just a few seconds longer before brining his fist down again and again, each time leaving a few more seconds in between his assault.

Seconds that keep ticking on after each punch. At some point Negaduck releases the other's wrist in favor of punching the hero with both hands, only needing to make minimum effort to swat away the hands that Darkwing brings up to defend himself with.

Although the word _defend_ is really giving too much credit to whatever it is the purple clad duck is trying.

Or lack thereof.

Negaduck grabs a fistful of feathers in both hands and pulls the other's head up. Another deeply satisfying crack resonates when he slams the other back down on to the unforgiving concrete. He does it twice more for good measure before pulling his hands back and wrapping them around his enemy's throat.

And yet, the villain is unable to press down hard enough to actually do damage.

Two hands have wrapped themselves around his own wrists, weakly, the pressure nowhere near enough to throw the yellow clad duck off.

Even with Negaduck not trying to actually kill the other just yet.

Blearily blue eyes are staring up, unfocussed, darting left and right. Not daring Negaduck to kill him.

Not begging him for forgiveness.

Not asking for mercy or sympathy.

Not challenging the villain in any way.

The unsatisfying lack of passion that he is so used to getting from the purple clad hero sends Negaduck himself in to a rage filled frenzy. Logic and reason are thrown out the window as he begins throwing a barrage of punches at his nemesis, uncaring where they land, unsatisfied and disappointed and _furious_ for the barely there soul that he is tormenting. Darkwing is barely raising one hand to shield his face, using the other to dig his fingers in Negaduck's leg. Not trying to throw the other duck off, but trying get to his throbbing injury that Negaduck is subconsciously squeezing with his leg as he sits on top of Darkwing.

Profanities and curses and random insults are flowing from Negaduck's beak like water with years of practice to back it up. He snarls a particular nasty comment with bared teeth and throws a punch to the side of his enemy's beak that makes Darkwing flinch. The raised arm the purple hero is using to sort of defend himself falls to the side, strength drained from his body.

The both of hem are left breathless for a tense few moments. Negaduck having exhausted most of his rage and venting it on the near defenseless duck he is still sitting on. Blood drips from his hands and sticks to his clothes and feathers. His wild eyes search the duck beneath him for a reaction in any way, shape or form.

Darkwing doesn't do much, other then taking ragged intakes of wet breath through sharp hitches of his chest. There is a soft rattle with each intake that Negaduck picks up on, indicating a lung has been pierced by a broken rib.

It goes to show the villain forgets his own strength sometimes. Especially in his fury.

Engines roar to his far left and when Negaduck jerks his head towards the sound he sees the Thunderquack soar through the morning sky. Of course that idiot pilot is searching for Dorkwing, certainly took him long enough.

The distraction helps with the last droplets of rage to dissipate from Negaduck's tense muscles, making way for a more controlled, much more dangerous anger. He looks back down, grabbing his adversary by the neck, lifting the fallen hero up as far as he can with himself still sitting on him, and slamming him back down into the concrete. The satisfying thud finally brings a cruel smile to the villains face.

Hazed eyes stare up, trying to focus on the evil duck. "I'm feeling generous today." He growls from somewhere deep in his throat. The foreboding tremor would have terrified anyone else should it be directed at them. "And seeing as you seem to be feeling a little under the weather…" His voice is a little hoarse from screaming profanities a little earlier. "Why do we not postpone our final get together, at least until you feel up to par again?"

Negaduck can be oh so generous sometimes.

"No one will fight you…" He promises, lowering himself slightly to look his downed foe in the eye. "No one will _touch_ you…" He taps the other's chest with a bloodied finger. The vile grin on his faces spreads into an even wider smile filled with malcontent.

"No one will even look at you in a way that I don't like."

Darkwing gasps when the weight is lifted from his battered body. "That is a promise." Negaduck turns away with a flourish of his cape and walks towards the edge of the rooftop. The Thunderquack approaches, finally!

It seems the stupid pilot had to go through a lot of trouble to find Darkwing.

It doesn't matter, he thinks to himself as the plane comes to a stop in front of him, just as Negaduck was about to jump off the roof. He gives whoever is steering the plane a toothy grin, fully aware that his clothes and hands and face are covered in blood and stray feathers.

As he jumps down and the Thunderquack lands on the rooftop he is unaware that the decision he just made will cost him all of his minions, his crown in the Negaverse, his reign in St. Canard.

And his life.

I wanted to share this with you :3 I hope you liked it, it has been a while since I last wrote something. Do you think I should continue?


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Tipping Point

Summary: We follow the downfall of Darkwing Duck and the rise of Darkwarrior. Gosalyn is gone and Darkwing blames himself for it. Launchpad tries to get the hero back on his feet without any success. And even Negaduck knows that somewhere, something went wrong, forcing the villain to make the mistake that will cost him his minions, his empire and eventually his life.

Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Disclaimer: Still down't own.

Rating and Warning: T for violence. Some blood. Swearing maybe. I'll try to keep it as canon as possible, but… yeah…

A/N: Changed the summary and the genre a bit. This plotbunny bit me, so here we go.

000

"… _with the number of reported incidents going up by as much as twenty percent in the last month. According to Chief Deputy Smallmausen, not even the doubling of police forces patrolling the streets have made any impact. So far the situation only seems to be getting worse as…"_

The reporter continues with her report on the skyrocketing crime rates of St. Canard. Seated on the couch and glued to the television sits Launchpad, the ever loyal sidekick of the greatest hero this city has ever seen. With his eyes wide and breathing a little shallow, he sits staring with his hands in his lap. Only when the reporter finishes with her numbers and the screen changes to an interview with Smallmausen, a large grey mouse in a brown suit, does he take a deeper breath.

So far the situation in the city is getting out of hand. It seems that not only Negaduck has gotten more volatile, which didn't seem possible until a few weeks ago but all the scum in the city has crawled out of their hiding places and is running amok.

On the television Smallmausen is elaborating on the set curfew. After ten people are advised to stay in their homes because of the violence in the streets. Gang wars have started among the smaller groups in St. Canard. An execution happens at least once a day. The number of drive-by's has increased to twice a week. And not to forget last weekend. A full out fight between two small gangs trying to make a name for themselves had taken place in the harbor. Thirty-four people had been killed and thirteen hospitalized. It had weakened both groups considerably. Nothing much has been done about it from both the authorities or other gangs.

Let the weak fight it out between themselves.

"… _seems as though he is getting stronger. Any thoughts on this?"_

" _Well, even though we do not know much about him, it seems he has been getting more adapt at manipulating plants. Although we have never seen Bushroot act out as much as he has in the past. It could be because Negaduck is enforcing this, but we cannot be certain at this point."_

Launchpad releases another deep sigh. It seems that the Fearsome Four, or at least Bushroot and Liquidator, have been growing in power the same way Negaduck has. Although Darkwing's evil counterpart doesn't have special powers like the other two, his violent and destructive tendencies have taken a turn for the worse. If the pilot were to believe what he can gather from the news and J. Gander, it seems Negaduck has been unofficially crowned the king of the underworld.

"… _a danger to society. Many believe he has even killed his two closest associates, Megavolt and Quackerjack, as they have not been seen for a good five months. We would not put it past him. Any thoughts on…"_

Has it really been so long?

He shakes his head slowly. It seems all too unreal that it has been five months since Gosalyn disappeared. Five months since their whole world was turned inside out and upside down.

Even though his memory might be a bit scattered every now and then when it comes to remembering certain dates or events, the ever loyal sidekick remembers that night all too vividly.

He remembers searching for the two crooks, who had seemed to have sort of vanished from the rooftop. There had been nothing left of their newest doomsday machine. He had shared his surprise with the hero, they had exchanged a few words and while Darkwing had double checked the rooftop of that building and the surrounding buildings, Launchpad had checked the building itself. He hadn't found a trace of Megavolt, but he did stumble upon a lone and forgotten pair of fake teeth.

Though if they belonged to Quackerjack or not he doesn't know.

They had a rendezvous at the Ratcatcher. Had Launchpad known that he would see his whole world collapse in front of him then and there he would have stayed in bed that morning.

He remembers the almost wild look in the hero's eyes. The croaked out calling of her name. How his back had gone rigid and his shoulders had raised.

" _Gosalyn…? Honey!?"_ The tremor in Darkwing's voice had sent a shiver down the pilot's spine.

They almost had an argument over their next course of action. But then both realized they were wasting precious time and had quickly gone in different directions in search of Gosalyn.

The first hour had gone by in a breath. Both had searched the streets first, going in different directions to cover as much as they could with just the two of them. It had only been half an hour since Darkwing had send Gosalyn to the Ratcatcher, and another half they had spend searching for the villains. She could not have gone far.

After having done his bit, with a racing heart and blood pounding in his ears Launchpad had ended up next to the bike once more. He had taken his time to calm down and think. Even though thinking was not his forte, it had helped calm down his blood pressure. Darkwing returned a few minutes later.

Laying eyes upon the hero had stopped the breath in his throat.

After being Darkwing's sidekick and best friend for a year and a half now, Launchpad had seen the hero's many moods and emotions. He had seen Darkwing scared, angry, bewildered and confused, but the emotion he had displayed that night, the sheer panic in those blue eyes, both too wide in slowly growing terror as the minutes without Gosalyn ticked by was something he had never wanted to experience.

" _There is a tracking device in one of her shoes."_ Darkwing's voice had been carrying the first signs of a breakdown, but he kept his head high. " _I can activate them from the tower. They aren't very accurate but it should at least give us a general idea of where she is."_

The hero had taken his fedora off with a little more force then was needed and stood fumbling next to the Ratcatcher. His shoulders were still raised in tension and his back straight, his hands trembling slightly.

Launchpad couldn't take the sight of it.

He had grabbed the smaller duck by the shoulders, turning him so they stood face to face. Launchpad had looked him straight in those baby blues, making sure his friend knew he wasn't alone in this. _"We're gonna find her."_ The pilot promised. _"She'll turn up before you know it. Then you will ground her until she is your age, and then we're gonna invite the Muddlefoots and hold a Pelican Island marathon with our dinner plates on our laps."_ He had seen it, then, the tiniest of smiles growing on the other duck's beak and the light somewhat returning to his eyes.

" _I hate Pelican Island…"_

" _I know you do."_

" _So much…"_

" _Season three is the best. We're gonna run that one first."_

It would be the last time he would see Darkwing crack a true, wide, happy smile.

" _You take the Ratcatcher, I'll go to the tower on foot. Maybe Gosalyn has gone there."_ They had both turned their heads down the street. It would take Launchpad a little over an hour to get to the tower on foot and that would be if he would take his time. He had made a promise to hurry as fast as he could so they would be reunited as soon as possible.

Darkwing hadn't voiced it but the look of undying gratitude in his eyes had told the sidekick more then when the hero would say it with words. Launchpad had felt his heart flutter with excitement at that look and at the prospect of having their family reunited once again. He has always been an optimistic guy, and he knew, _was absolutely certain_ , that they would find the little duckling before dawn.

Launchpad was already planning what chips they could serve during the marathon as the other duck turned his bike and sped down the road.

That undying optimism took a heavy blow when Darkwing called forty minutes later.

The tracking device only picked up on Gosalyn's shoes in the tower and at their house on Avian Way. No trace of it in the city. _"I'm going to the Muddlefoots. Maybe she's there."_

" _Make sure you change first!"_ It had been pure instinct on Launchpad's part. There was a short silence on the phone, followed by a muttered curse that pulled at the corners of the pilot's beak.

" _I ah… I know that…"_

No matter how shortsighted Herb was or how simple Binky could be, bless their big hearts, having one Darkwing Duck show up at their doorstep at two in the night asking them where Gosalyn was, with the fatherly terror that the hero was having a hard time hiding shining in his eyes, well… They would put two and two together surely.

But Drake had called in as soon as Launchpad had entered the tower another thirty minutes later. No sign of Gosalyn. He had also called the police, expertly twisting the story. While he had to wait for them to come to the house Drake had rung the bell at all of the houses surrounding their home. Though he was greeted by furious, half asleep neighbors their anger had melted for the single dad whose little girl had gone missing. There had been well wishes and promises to keep an eye out galore.

No Gosalyn.

No sleep that day either as the hero had searched various keypoints in the city. He had visited her school, the homes of her friends, several sports fields and even her favorite playground. And at the end of the day, as the sun had set not moments before had he changed to Darkwing Duck without a single thought turned to his own wellbeing. Launchpad could have protested and pleaded as much as he wanted, he would not get his friend to lie down, not even for an hour.

Launchpad suppresses a shudder.

Because as soon as Darkwing had readied himself to leave, a livid Morgana had entered the tower.

Up until that moment the pilot had only been a little intimidated by her but then, as she came thundering in he had been truly afraid of her. Never had he been so scared of her throwing down her magic as much as he had then. And never had he been so awestruck by the downright icy composure of Darkwing. The hero would always cower if she got angry, but the stony indifference to her rage had been nothing short of admirable.

As it turns out it they had been planning a date the night before. It would have started as soon as Darkwing had done his rounds of the city that evening. He would be with her at two, they would sit and chat and eat and gaze into each other's eyes, and then he would leave again at sunrise.

It had happened before that evil had taken all of the hero's time and Morgana basically got stood up, but Darkwing would always call her as soon as he got the chance to apologize. Sometimes, when the sun had yet to rise he would go to her house no matter how beat up he sometimes got. With his tail between his legs and his hat in hand he would personally ask for her pardon, and Morgana would always welcome him with open arms, a kiss on his head and some salve and bandages for his injuries.

Morgana _always_ forgave him for not showing up.

Simply because she was very aware of the hard life of a hero and how criminals never really cared to plan a date and time when they would go on their next heist.

But Darkwing could have called with a simple "I'm sorry" and everything would have been fine.

But he hadn't.

And Morgana does _not_ take very kindly to being ignored. What made the situation worse was the way the hero had reacted to her well deserved and well aimed fury. He had brushed her off, practically dismissed the witch, simply breezed passed her on his way to the Ratcatcher. The stress and lack of rest had Darkwing not thinking straight anymore, who had already been running on reserves after being awake for a little over thirty six hours. The purple clad duck would have made for a very big stain on the floor and the walls and maybe even the ceiling if Launchpad hadn't intervened.

With that, Morgana's rage had disappeared in a breath and had made place for worry and understanding. She had kissed Darkwing on the head and soothed him, because _he_ had been getting angry at _her_ for keeping him from leaving.

With a smile she had offered her services and with a scowl she had reprimanded the two ducks for not thinking of her sooner. With the right spell she could locate Gosalyn within an hour. Darkwing had gaped at her in disbelief for a few long moments before nearly flinging into her, telling her he was an idiot, that she was amazing, and he was sorry for not thinking of her.

Morgana had told him yes you are, yes I know, and you are forgiven.

Launchpad had been hanging off to the side for the time it took Morgana to prepare the spell. All she had needed was something that belonged to Gosalyn. The way Darkwing's eyes had lit up had burned in the pilot's retinas. It was a sight he never wanted to forget.

And it was a sight he still desperately clings to.

Gosalyn's favorite hockystick was the best choice. Hero and sidekick stood by and watched the witch chant once, twice, and then three times.

Not because she needed to repeat the spell in order for it to work.

But because Gosalyn was nowhere.

Just…

…nowhere.

Gosalyn had disappeared to a place where not even Morgana's magic could reach her. She had vanished from the face of the planet.

Five months down and still no sign of her.

There had been a time when they all thought she had been kidnapped. Maybe even by the diabolical besties Megavolt and Quackerjack, but they would have sent for a ransom. They would have wanted something.

They would have let Darkwing know they had the girl and wanted money, or him in exchange, or anything.

But nothing.

"… _which leads us all to wonder, where is Darkwing Duck?"_

Not even the Chief Deputy has an answer. His big grey ears, which already had been lowered in distress, flatten even more and he visibly deflates.

Launchpad subconsciously does the same.

These five months have been nothing short of a roller coaster. His own optimism has trickled down with each passing day. In the first weeks of Gosalyn's disappearance he had high hopes every time they walked out the door. That they would find her, save her if needed, bring her home and make everything right again.

It became harder and harder to keep smiling as the first month had passed without so much as a feather of the little troublemaker. Launchpad had tried to keep as level headed as possible, but a distraught Darkwing made that very difficult.

What makes things so much worse is that it was Launchpad who would always look at the hero for guidance. Darkwing was _his_ beacon in the fog which made it that much worse because, when Drake needed him in his time of need, Launchpad was failing miserably. His endless optimism may have gotten them far but just a smile and a few encouraging words are not enough to soothe the anguish the hero must be going through right now.

Not the physical pain, no thanks to Negaduck, but the emotional distress that haunts the hero like a shadow.

It had been easy to fall back in his old mannerisms and be all encouragement and positivity. Darkwing needed that from the pilot, and even though Launchpad rarely got a fake smile in return there had been gratitude in the hero's eyes.

But after every failed search mission it became harder. Every time they would return, or Darkwing would when he ventured out alone, the shadow in the hero's eyes became a little darker, the pain a little more prominent.

And the desperation a little more severe.

The hero's mental breakdown on that rooftop two weeks ago was the dam breaking, but there had been severe cracks in the concrete in the weeks leading up to that debacle.

They had been in the form of sleepless nights as Darkwing, or days as Drake as he had desperately searched for any clue that would lead him in the direction of Gosalyn. It had been in the cries he uttered and the tears he shed as he woke from a disturbed sleep. They had been in the shape of desperate glances Darkwing would throw at Launchpad, searching for even a shred of hope to boost his own shattered spirits.

It had been in the form of his endless haunting of the few places the little girl called hers. Be it her cot in the tower, or worse, her bedroom upstairs. In the first week the whole room had been upturned making it look like an even bigger war zone then when Gosalyn had still been around. Drake had searched it from top to bottom for anything that could have led to her whereabouts. When nothing had come up he had taken it upon himself to tidy up and clean for her. A hurricane couldn't have done a better job then he had at the end of that first week so, feeling horrendously guilty because the hero himself is a little OCD, he had cleaned it without complaints.

It may even have been therapeutic.

May have been, but not really.

Because Drake went back way more often that had been appropriate. In the beginning, as Launchpad had begun to pick up on Drake's aimless wandering into her room, cleaning little nicknacks or putting this or that away. He would linger for sometimes hours if Launchpad didn't catch him and send him off to bed, or ushered him to get ready because they were planning on going out.

And each time Launchpad ushered Drake out of her bedroom the hero would look a little more lost and a lot more guild stricken.

Not even Morgana, who has been doing her best to be a rock in the current, has been able to do more then be there and assist whenever Darkwing needs it.

" _For all we know he could be dead."_ The reporter on screen draws Launchpad out of his thoughts and back to the present. He follows the two people on screen bicker over what evidence there may have been that would lead them to Darkwing's body. So far the hero is still alive.

Alive. Not well.

The pilot doesn't really know what exactly happened on that rooftop that fateful night, and Darkwing hasn't been very lucid lately so the half baked story the hero told him seems to only be part true. Not because the other duck would willingly lie to Launchpad but because he took quite a few blows to the head, curtesy of one Negaduck. And the pain medication S. H. U. S. H. had provided is addling his already cooked brain even more.

Right now Drake is upstairs, finally asleep it seems because there is a soft sound coming from somewhere behind Launchpad. The enchantress slowly descends the staircase, gliding into the living room and taking a seat next to the pilot. She releases a deep breath, not a good sign. "He's not doing well… it's like his mind is everywhere…" She speaks softly, her eyes falling on the cast around Launchpad's leg.

"Yeah that's the painkillers. He will get better when he doesn't need them anymore."

"The city is a mess." Morgana stares at the television and tries to make sense of the numbers on the screen. Most of it seems like gibberish to her but she does know that everything is falling apart. "I never knew Dark made such a huge impact on crime." A small smile graces her lips. Something in her chest flutters at the thought of her handsome gothic knight having so much power in the palm of his hand. "I am so proud."

Launchpad shrugs, his body shaking with bubbling laughter. "Me too. I'm honored to be his sidekick."

A pleasant silence falls over them as both return to their thoughts. Fond memories of a better time, of much easier days. Where it was just them, just Darkwing being the hero, Launchpad the even helpful sidekick, Morgana the love of the hero's life and little Gosalyn in their midst as the small beacon of hope, the glue that holds the three of them from falling apart. Their moment of peace is short lived as those same lovely memories turn towards the gloomy present. Morgana presses her beak tightly shut before uttering her hopelessness. "I wish I could do more…"

"Don't you worry about it. DW knows we're here for him. He will get well real soon."

"I hope you're right. There's just…"

After a long silence between them she finally speaks up again. "He scares me…" The witch admits, eyes falling on her hands in her lap. She begins to fidget, seemingly unsure how to continue. The pilot next to her gives her a puzzling stare but doesn't say anything. It's best to let Morgana elaborate on her own terms.

It taker her longer then he expected.

"There is something in his eyes. I can tell he struggles with himself. He misses Gosalyn so much it is physically affecting him. But there's…" The pause in her words and the tremble in her voice have Launchpad sitting on the edge of his seat. So to speak. "…Something is struggling to break free…"

"It's probably the old DW. Crimefighting has been his life for such a long time and all. He must be itching to get back to being a hero." A short pause. Even Launchpad knows his theory is warped. "You know, beneath all of that… well _that_."

They fall in an awkward silence as the woman on the T.V keeps rambling. _"…when the city needs him now, more then ever."_ Her final words seem to pull the sound out of the room. Even though the news show cuts to commercials everything seems to fall deathly silent.

There is no need to share words between them. Even though Morgana and Launchpad aren't bestest of friends who know each other's darkest fears, deepest hopes and long wished dreams, they both know without speaking their minds, that there is something.

"It's dangerous…" Launchpad speaks out loud what Morgana was thinking.

The glue that has been holding them together is gone.

And dangerous is an understatement.

000

Next chapter will be from Darkwing's pov. We might even see the first tendrils of Darkwarrior seep through :3 Thanks everyone for the love!


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